


Locked Doors And Closed Windows (And Dark Rooms Behind Them)

by Lothiriel84



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are locked doors and closed windows in your mind, and dark rooms behind them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locked Doors And Closed Windows (And Dark Rooms Behind Them)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MerriWyllow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerriWyllow/gifts).



> The title is a quote from _The Lord of The Rings_ by J.R.R. Tolkien.

You’re falling apart at the seams, and you don’t know what to do with yourself.

Dealing with criminal psychopaths on a daily basis is taking its toll on you, you’re desperate for something ordinary for a change.

(And she’s always there for you, no matter how many times you’ve hurt her.)

It’s a momentary lapse, you delete it as soon as it’s over. However, there’s always something – you didn’t factor in that some things just can’t be undone.

You blink twice as you read her text, pausing a moment before deleting it as well.

If she wants to keep the baby, then it’s her own business. That’s what you tell John right before he punches you in the face.

“You can’t do this, Sherlock. You just can’t.”

That’s where he’s wrong. You can, and you will. Children are even less your area than either boyfriends or girlfriends, there’s nothing else to say about it.

All your friends are angry at you because of this, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Alone is what protects you, and caring is most definitely not an advantage.

You ignore Mrs Hudson’s disapproving looks, as well as Lestrade’s. John refuses to talk to you now, and yet you try to convince yourself it’s fine.

(None of them ever get to know about the night when you overdose. It’s Mycroft that saves you, the brother you love and hate in equal parts. You spend the rest of the night crying on his shoulder, though both of you pretend that it never happened afterwards.)

Your son is born prematurely, and you sneak into the maternity ward in order to steal a quick glimpse at him. You make sure to memorize his features, locking them away in the darkest room situated in a deserted wing of your memory palace.

Two days later John barges into your flat, attempts to haul you to the hospital.

“It’s your child, Sherlock. You just can’t ignore this.”

“He’s better off without me,” you state flatly, and he suddenly lets go of your wrist.

“How do you know it’s a boy? Mrs Hudson never mentioned it.”

You only shrug, but you can see realization dawn on him at length.

“Oh, dear. You’ve been lying all the time, haven’t you? You like to pretend you don’t have emotions, but you do – you always feel them, and they scare the hell out of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply in mild annoyance, but this time you let him drag you away.

Molly offers you a tentative smile as John pushes you nearer; you have to fight the impulse to run away.

Then she reaches for your hand, and you find you’re able to breath at last.


End file.
